


times they keep coming

by helloearthlings



Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Closeted Character, Episode Related, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, M/M, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 05:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14097804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloearthlings/pseuds/helloearthlings
Summary: So, Sammy decided as he ignored the stop sign at the bottom of the hill to blast into town, he was perfectly justifiable in his anger toward Ben and that was that.That wasn’t that.Obviously.Because the question had haunted Sammy all his goddamn life.Who is Sammy Stevens?





	times they keep coming

**Author's Note:**

> Yes. I am still here. Still Feeling Things about Sammy Stevens. This is a fic of friendship, grief, and mainly headcanon incorporation that makes me very sad because [insert gif from B99] I've only had Sammy Stevens for a day and a half and if anything ever happened to him I'd kill everyone in this room and then myself.
> 
> Set after Ep 39 and the whole 'Who is Sammy Stevens' debacle because I clearly hate myself.
> 
> Enjoy!

Sammy could still hear Ben’s voice behind him as he stalked angrily through the parking lot, morning light peeping through the trees and Ben’s voice incessantly nagging at him.

“Sammy, please, wait, you know I didn’t mean it like that – you know I trust you – come on, man, slow down for a second! I’m sorry, Sammy, I’m sorry – let’s talk, can we talk?”

Sammy answered Ben’s question by glaring at his cohost as he got into his car, slammed the door shut, jabbed his key into the ignition, and backed out of the parking lot.

He wouldn’t have put it past Ben to stand behind his car so he couldn’t leave without causing serious injury – which wouldn’t have mattered, Sammy would’ve just got out of his car and walked down the fucking mountain if he had to – but thankfully, Ben just stared after Sammy in that crestfallen way of his, mouthing the words _Please, I’m sorry_ as Sammy got the hell out of dodge.

It really was too fucking warm for December, Sammy chose to focus on as he broke the speed limit and very nearly hit the speed limit sign as he zoomed down the curving mountain road that he’d gotten so used to. Gotten used to. He’d gotten fucking used to it.

And now he wasn’t thinking about the weather anymore, Ben’s question still burned into his brain like acid.

_Who is Sammy Stevens?_

“Well,” Sammy growled at loud at nothing and nobody but the early morning already too-hot sun, “who is he?”

He couldn’t help but wonder how Ben would answer if Sammy had given him the chance. How did Ben really see him? Obviously as someone who couldn’t be trusted, not entirely. As some shadowy figure with a dark past. As something hell-bent on taking Emily away from him, destroying King Falls, whatever fucking other words Ben wanted to put in his mouth.

He couldn’t blame Ben. Not for everything at least. It wasn’t as if Sammy was forthcoming with any information that Ben wanted about why he was here in King Falls. But Sammy couldn’t possibly say those words out loud.

What he _could_ blame Ben for was the goddamn notebook. He was a secretive little shit who wouldn’t share his deep, dark plans with Sammy because he didn’t trust him enough. He equated telling Sammy with telling the audience – equating telling Sammy with telling the enemy.

And whoever else Sammy Stevens might be, he sure as _hell_ wasn’t Ben’s enemy.

So, Sammy decided as he ignored the stop sign at the bottom of the hill to blast into town, he was perfectly justifiable in his anger and that was that.

That wasn’t that.

Obviously.

Because the question had haunted Sammy all his goddamn life.

_Who is Sammy Stevens?_

Instead of going to his apartment, to Rose’s, to the coffee shop down the street, anywhere in the main hustle of King Falls, Sammy headed out toward Lake Hatchenhaw. Not near Ron’s bait shop, he couldn’t possibly deal with Ron and his sympathy right now. The other side of the lake, the quiet one, the one where no one would bother him this early.

He slammed his car door yet again when he got to a decent place to pull his car off the road, and grabbed his pack of cigarettes from the glove box.

 _Cancer sticks_ , Jack would’ve said, and snatched them away from him.

Fuck. What Sammy wouldn’t give for that right now.

Ben would do it if he was here. Sammy didn’t much, especially in the studio, but he’d stepped outside during a particularly shitty night and Ben had just given Sammy a look, took the cigarette from his mouth, and stomped out it saying _Don’t give yourself cancer, idiot._

Sammy had been too violently reminded of Jack to even pretend he was mad.

Sammy never used to smoke. He’d taken it up when he was Shotgun because that was what Shotgun did, he fucked up Sammy’s life, cancer-causing sticks included. Then when Jack was gone and Shotgun still had to go to the studio every day, they were practically all he lived off. He lost far too much weight, coughed constantly and knew that if he kept going he’d lose his patented radio voice. When he came to King Falls, he told himself he had to stop.

Jack once played him a video of David Sedaris saying he went to Tokyo to stop smoking, because a change of location was the best way to break a bad habit.

All in the name of convincing Sammy to come to King fucking Falls.

“I made it, Jack,” Sammy said to nothing and nobody but the quiet lake. “Going on a year and a half now. And mainly stopped smoking. Mainly. You’re welcome.”

He stopped expecting a reply a long time ago.

He lit his cigarette and felt mildly bad about polluting Ron’s air, but he was just going to have the one. He hadn’t had one since August. He was doing alright.

Alright in No Jack-adjusted terms.

And now he’d managed to alienate Ben, the only good thing about his life, the only thing left for him in the world – and he thought Sammy was a fake, a fraud, nothing more than a shadow.

Well, that made two of them.

_Who is Sammy Stevens?_

Sammy knew what Ben was looking for. He was looking for a reason, and Sammy couldn’t give him one.

Ben was all he had. He couldn't lose Ben, too.

Sammy could always just answer Ben’s question as if he’d asked _who is Shotgun Sammy?_

Sammy could answer that one.

A fake, a fraud, nothing more than a blowhard asshole of a shadow that Sammy never wanted to become and despises the memory of.

Sammy had pretended to be too many people.

Even back in high school, all he could do was pretend. Pretend he was alright, more than alright, pretend he was great. Be great at everything. Valedictorian, ran the school paper, ran cross country, ran and ran ran even back then. Didn’t have friends, just acquaintances, just hang-outs, just parties. He’d done the morning announcements every day and the principal told him _you’ve got a voice for radio_ and Sammy listened.

He never got up on a stage, though, not like Ben had. Ben would’ve been a great Danny Zuko. Sammy wished he could’ve seen it, wished he’d known Ben back then, wondered if Mrs. Arnold videotaped the performance so Sammy could make fun of Ben when he decided to speak to Ben again.

Sammy, though – Sammy saved all his acting for his life.

College – that was the time he’d been most genuine because that was when he met Jack. He’d moved to Oregon for school and there was Jack looking all the California golden boy, and Lily looking all the California babe.

Lily was in one of his journalism classes – Jack was in a science class of all things. They sat in the back and didn’t pay attention together, got a spot hosting a college radio show together, got an apartment together, did everything _together_.

Sammy squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to stop thinking about that. That wasn’t any good for anybody, not anymore. Jack was gone and Lily hated him and Sammy couldn’t afford to miss those days.

He missed the next days too, the show the three of them started that would become the jumping-off point for Lily’s goddamn _Wright On_. Even when it had gotten bad, when Lily had gotten controlling and manipulative and Sammy and Jack finally decided to leave – he missed that.

He even missed fucking Shotgun. He _hated_ Shotgun, hated being Shotgun, hated the way Shotgun laughed and talked and smiled, Sammy wanted to punch Shotgun in the fucking face, but Shotgun only existed for a few hours a day and then he got to be Sammy again, Sammy and Jack, _SammyandJack_ because there was never one without the other.

And in all that time, Sammy could never find the courage to be anything else than who he pretended to be. Even here, even now, it was an act. Not a show like Shotgun – not a flashy party – but a front. A wall. A screen between him and the rest of the world because even though Jack was gone, Sammy still couldn’t say the words out loud.

“Two years,” Sammy said to himself as blew smoke out. “Almost two years.”

Jack had gone missing in January from Sammy’s front driveway in LA. It was December first. Soon, it would be two years. Then three. Then four. Then five. Then six. And on and on and on for the rest of Sammy’s life, because who was he kidding? He couldn’t get Jack back.

He was no Ben Arnold.

_Who is Sammy Stevens?_

Sammy Stevens had no fucking idea.

There was no real answer to that question other than _a fake, a fraud, a coward, a lost cause._

Well, there was one other answer. The answer Sammy avoided. The answer Ben deserved to hear.

_Jack Wright._

Everything real about Sammy, everything that mattered, it was all Jack. Jack’s laugh, Jack’s smile, Jack’s fucking fire, Jack telling Sammy _dude, you know I love you, right_? at some unnamable industry party when they were twenty-three when Sammy was having another one of his fucking panic attacks in the bathroom and saying _I love you too_ and they both knew that it meant more than just an exchange of words when Jack leaned in to kiss him.

Fuck.

Jack Wright was who Sammy was, the only real piece of him, and now Jack Wright was gone. Dead or worse.

That’s what Ben should write in his fucking notebook.

_Who is Sammy Stevens?_

Dead or worse.

Sammy supposed that wasn’t entirely true. There was probably a piece of him lodged somewhere in the expanse of nothing that had Ben Arnold’s name on it.

Which was what made him so fucking pissed off, because Ben was the last good thing about him and Ben didn’t trust him –

The cigarette finally went out. Sammy didn’t let himself get another one.

Sammy kept staring out at the lake, though, at the boats just now going out, at the lights on at Ron’s.

How easy would it be to go right over and say to Ron _I’m gay and my life has been spiraling out of control for years now and I feel like I might die of it._

How easy would it be to go back to the radio station, find a lip-chewing, overly-anxious Ben Arnold and say _I was in love with a handsome guy from California and now he’s gone and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to find him._

A lot less easy than sitting here, staring out into nothingness, wishing he could dissipate into it, and staying angry at Ben.

That’s when Sammy heard the noise of a car approaching, and a sick feeling twisted in his stomach when he saw it was a police cruiser. He’d have to justify himself, which he was in no mood to do, especially because sitting out on a lake wasn't illegal and his cigarette was long gone –

Troy got out of the car and Sammy didn’t relax, because somehow seeing a friendly face was worse right now. Sammy didn’t want friendly. He was angry. He was upset. He was utterly, completely lost and despairing, and had been for almost two years now.

“Hey there, good buddy,” Troy did his signature dopey half-wave and Sammy’s lip twitched but he refused to smile and instead grimaced in Troy’s general direction.

Troy leaned on the Sammy’s car next to him, just inches away, and didn’t talk right away. Sammy appreciated that. Troy, unlike Ben, knew that silence was sometimes preferred.

Unfortunately, Troy kept that up for all of two minutes before he said in his gentleness voice – which was saying something, since all of Troy’s voices were gentle, “I was listening. I’m real sorry, Sammy. But you know Ben don’t mean anything by it. At least nothing bad. This Emily thing’s got him real messed up, you know that. But you’re his best friend. Always will be.”

Sammy didn’t reply, but that didn’t stop Troy from keeping on going.

“Look, it wasn’t right of him to write that down,” Troy said firmly, “wasn’t right of him to think it either. But he wasn’t thinking straight. He trusts you – more than anyone.”

“Then why won’t he show me what’s in that goddamn notebook?” Sammy said, suddenly even more exhausted than he’d been before Troy showed up.

Troy patted Sammy’s shoulder. “He won’t show anyone that thing, Sammy. You know that. Sleeps with the darn thing under his pillow. It’s not that he don’t trust you – just that he’s shaky right now. He’ll get right when he finds Emily.”

“Right,” Sammy breathed out, dying for another cigarette. “I know. I’m just – angry, Troy. I’m just angry.”

“You have a right to be,” Troy said, smiling down at him. “You ain’t in the wrong here.”

Well, that wasn’t quite true, since Sammy was literally always in the wrong at every possible moment throughout his life, but he took Troy’s siding with him with a smile.

“Thanks, Troy,” Sammy said quietly. “Means a lot.”

“If I can ask, is somethin’ else botherin’ you?” Troy’s eyes widened with concern. Troy was damn perceptive like that in a way that Ben and Ron and everyone else Sammy knew wasn’t. Troy always seemed to sense emotional turmoil. “You seem real on edge, and not just ‘cause of Ben.”

“I –” Sammy started, already knowing that he couldn’t possibly say the words, but he had a couple others he could use. “I’m going to be thirty next year.”

Troy’s eyebrows creased in confusion. “Yeah, we just had your birthday party last month. It was real fun. Are you scared ‘bout gettin’ older?”

“Not scared,” Sammy answered, “I’m just…. going to be thirty. I’m going to have lived three decades of my life.”

“Are you mad at all of Ben’s old man jokes?” Troy asked, still as genuine as ever, looking as if he’d have a stern talking-to with Ben about the jokes right after this, and it was almost enough to make Sammy laugh. “I know he’s been upping them since your twenty-ninth, but I’ll tell him to stop if it’s really bothering you.”

“It’s not the jokes,” Sammy reassured Troy. The jokes, not that he’d ever tell Ben, were actually pretty funny and made Sammy feel better about this whole aging business. “It’s just…thirty years. Thirty years. Who is Sammy Stevens? You’d think after thirty years…”

The look in Troy’s eyes changed almost imperceptibly, but he seemed to realize this was about more than just Ben.

“Well, we should toast to thirty more at Rose’s for breakfast,” Troy said, gesturing out away from the lake and into the town. “On me.”

Thirty more – goddamn, that was too many. Far too many years without Jack ahead of him. Sammy couldn’t possibly keep this up for thirty more. The first thirty had exhausted him to the point of no return and they hadn’t even finished yet.

Nineteen – he’d been nineteen when he met Jack Wright, and now he was twenty-nine. Turning thirty. About to be in his thirties.

He couldn’t possibly keep going like this.

_Who is Sammy Stevens?_

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Nothing that anyone would remember when he was gone – except Ben. Except Ron. Except Lily.

And except Troy.

“Yeah,” Sammy nodded, swallowing his words just as he’d done all his life, “let’s get breakfast.”

Troy beamed at him, not knowing what Sammy just realized.

He couldn’t possibly keep going for another thirty years. He couldn’t possibly do this forever.


End file.
